Oath Under Evil
by StriderX
Summary: Murtagh's life after the last battle in 'Eldest' through Thorn's eyes. Is there any hope left for our favorite tortured badboy?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** G'day mates. This chapter started out as a one-shot quicky out of borebom, but as you'll find, I've decided to keep going as far as my muse will take me. Enjoy if you like, sorry if you don't. But all the while, thankx for the interest.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it any more then I own Shawn White (pro snowboarder)...which is not at all...too bad.

**Warnings: **Major Spoilers!! If you haven't read _Eldest_ to its entirety, DO NOT read...it'll ruin the ending for you.

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**Oath Under Evil  
****Chapter 1  
By: Strider X**

I can feel my Rider dying beside me. Under the bloody skies of The Burning Plains, my heart wrenches at the merciless ripping tearing at the boy's young heart. Older then mine yes, but still; so young to endure such pain. His pain in mine, I do all I can to hide the grief from the mental bond we share. Gingerly, I reach out to give him strength as I catch his steps falter; though so slightly that only I am to notice as a painful twinge lurks up in our backs. No desperation, no guilt, no sheer sorrow has ever passed through our bond as strong as it does now.

"You cannot help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that..." the low, growling voice of my dark Rider sparks a fire within my soul. Galbatorix. I would tear him to pieces with my own talons if not for the blasted curse holding us. "He knows our true names, Eragon...We are his slaves forever."

There is a resignation in his tone that I pray I will never have to hear again. Focusing all my strength, I touch his thoughts in a most comforting way in attempt to calm him. Hurtful understanding courses through my fiery veins as he reels from my touch.

"Then let us kill the two of you," says the other Rider, Eragon, with a sympathy that truly feels honest.

"Kill us! Why should we allow that?" barely contained madness seeps through Murtagh's voice like a venom. Terror shoots into my eyes when a strangled thought creeps across the small trickle of unbarred emotion between our bond. As much as he would fight to deny it, that's exactly what he wants; Murtagh _wants_ Eragon to kill him. I can feel steaming pools of tears forming in the depths of my vermillion eyes.

The rest of the conversation means naught to me now. How could anyone put such an innocent child through so much pain that they would actually _want_ to die? The cruelty of Murtagh's past is beyond even the comprehension of a dragon.

The next sounds to break my empathetic depression screech with the grating of the red blade _Misery_ sliding from its sheath. Gods. Horror again crawls within my being as I feel a psychotic expression of a victim beyond their breaking point inch closer to shattering, poisoning Murtagh's face.

"If I have become my father, then I will have my father's blade. Thorn is my dragon, and a thorn he shall be to all our enemies. It is only right, then, that I should also wield the sword _Misery_. _Misery_ and Thorn, a fit match. Besides, Zar'roc should have gone to Morzan's eldest son, not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth," so the truth has finally been told. Ever since Murtagh learned of his blood to Eragon, there had been a deep black cloud enveloping him. Such knowledge will make it all the more painful for us to fulfill our oath.

"You're lying!" the younger Rider cries desperately. Please don't do that...Murtagh is already hurting enough.

"...You can't deny it," Murtagh whispers in almost a jest; his lips to Eragon's ear. The maniacal expression still hovers over his dark features; even _I_ can feel the younger Rider flinch under his gaze.

"You're wrong," Eragon growls as he continues to struggle against the spell my Rider holds effortlessly. "We're nothing alike. I don't even have a scar on my back anymore."

All the pain, all the hope, all the feeling ripping through Murtagh shatters in an unbearable slice through our hearts.

The wave of unbridled emotion crashing into my mind is like a wall of icy water; overpowering every other thought and reason within me. _'Help me...'_ the frightened voice of the child inside Murtagh's mind threatens to crush my heart under its weight.

_'Hold on, young one,'_ I comfort him helplessly; unable to hide my anguish. _'It's almost over.' _

As I send a surge of comfort through our reopened bond, Murtagh regains his hardened expression and lifts Zar'roc to hold it before his chest. "So be it. I take my inheritance from you, brother. Farewell."

I finally shed the breath I have been holding as Murtagh belts the cursed blade, picks up his helm, and pulls himself into my saddle. When he looked at me before climbing up my crimson scales, I could see years of unshed tears building behind cloudy azure eyes. Feeling his gaze as we take flight, not once did he allow himself another look toward his brother. While I am sure Eragon mistook such an act for betrayal and hatred, I find myself the only to know the true emotions of the silver-armored Rider masking his face with armored helm. In this battle, they had won, and we had lost...more then they know.

Minutes crawl by like years in the deafening silence around us.

_'Murtagh?'_ I gently attempt to coax my Rider out of his dangerous silence.

_'Kill me, Thorn.'_ the exhaustion in his voice was enough to make me falter in my flight. _'I can't take this anymore.'_

What does one answer to that? _'Together, we can. We will find a way, my friend. Please, do not give up.' _

Worry seeps over me like a sap when silence grows and nothing but the sound of the heavy sky rushing past fills my ears. And then, finally, _'Thorn...'_ he falters. _'regardless of how this may end, I'm glad you're with me. I couldn't do this on my own.'_

I know his words are only a mask of the silent tears trailing down his pale face, but still, I cannot help the sigh of relief as the heavy weight of worry lightens on my wings_. 'As am I, Murtagh...without you, I'd still be cramped up in that blasted egg,' _worry lightens a little more at the sound of his laugh; however tragic it might sound. _'We'll find a way, _fricai_, we will.' _

I do not know what will happen next. I can only imagine the suffering Murtagh will be forced to endure when we return to Galbatorix; the evil king will not be pleased to hear of Murtagh's failure. But if it may be any comfort to my young Rider, I will never leave his side. It is my promise. It is my swear. We will be free.

**TBC**

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**A/N2:** As I said before, thankx for reading...hope you liked it, sorry if you didn't. However, if you would be so kind to leave a little review before you go? It will be greatly appreciated and replied to (if signed in). Thankx again, 

Strider


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Originally, this story was just going to be a one-shot, but thankx to HollyandMisltoe for the idea, I decided to keep going...atleast until my muse runs out. I'm not sure how many more chapters I'll write, but for the time being, I will keep going. I hope you enjoy it, and if not, sorry you're dissapointed.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it anymore then a squirrel owns its nuts.

**Warnings:** I'm beyond spoilers now...only warning here is a shirtless Murtagh...I'm sorry, I just had to put it in :)

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**Oath Under Evil  
****Chapter 2  
By: StriderX**

The flight back to Urû'bean is spent in a companionable silence both my Rider and I are grateful for. It appears that the more skilled we become in magic, the louder the world around us seems to scream. Even the smallest of creatures are aware of how unbalanced mankind has made the world. Not that I blame men entirely. The elves and dragons had much to do with the situation as well. The only race that is really innocent in all this is the dwarves. If not for the dragon's constant pestering, I am sure the dwarves would have had nothing to do with any of these wars of madman, enemies, and allies. But all such things are in the past now. Today, as the cold autumn rain drenches this dull world, I see that the things that really matter are the simple joys of life—much like the warm silence embracing the bond reforged with my dearest friend and Rider, Murtagh.

It is early morning now; too early to bother to stir. Under cover of night, I was able to find a secluded crevasse for us to rest from the pelting rain amongst the base of the hills not five leagues southeast of the black mountain Helgrind. We would be expected back in the king's castle soon, but after having Murtagh nearly fall off my back with exhaustion; the king can wait another day. The crevasse isn't quite large enough for both us to fit comfortably; I don't mind the rain. After much protesting on Murtagh's part, I finally managed to convince him that he needs the shelter more then I do. And now, four hours later, with my tale and backside numb from the rain, I can't help but smile as I look upon my young friend.

Sleep is an amazing thing. No matter how deep the sorrow, how embedded the worry, every line and shadow on his face seems to simply wash away in the cover of sleep. It is here that I realize how young he really is. Stripped to the waist—his tunic and cape drying by glowing embers left from a small fire in the corner and armor thrown haphazardly to the side—he is curled into a ball in the crook between my arm and neck, snoring softly in the comfort of my breath warming the chilled air. Deep umber hair falling over long-lashed eyes closed to the world and its troubles hides the blemishes of battle and worry scratching his skin.

We should leave soon, but I won't wake him. I haven't seen him sleep so peacefully in many a month.

Not many hours later, I wake again to feel Murtagh stirring from his sleep. Opening my eyes, I find him smiling back at me with clear, refreshed eyes and calmed features_. 'You look better, young one,' _I say with a snort; blowing the unruly bangs from his face.

He shrugs and stretches gently; testing his muscles still sore and tense from battle_. 'I feel better. Better then I have in a while,'_ his tone is light and strong with a crisp clarity only morning can bring_. 'Thank you for stopping, Thorn...I didn't realize how tired I was.'_

A low chuckle rises in my throat as he stands and tends to the quenching fire, adding a few twigs and leaves to the dimming embers_. 'A dragon is not quick to forget the limits of his Rider, Murtagh.' _

He grins as the fire slowly simmers to life. _'Yes,'_he thinks through a small laugh—not the tragic, morbid snicker as I have grown accustomed to, but a real, pure..._giggle_. _'Yes, and I should be glad for it...I seem to recall nearly slipping off your back at some point last night.' _

I nod. _'That was when I remembered your limits.'_

Breakfast is a simple affair; I don't need to eat for a few days more and Murtagh has nothing more then a modest meal of bread and jelly. As he ate and dressed, we talked of the weather, the strength of his armor, and the wet leather of my saddle; never did we address the inevitable eventuality of returning to Galbatorix' hold. Such a peaceful morning is too rare a thing to destroy with thoughts of the despair and suffering that awaits us. But, like all good things, it seems, our rare morning conversations had to end eventually.

After strapping on the last of his battle armor, tying his pack to the latch on my saddle, and securing Zar'roc to his belt, Murtagh looks out to the gloomy day fogging the valley ahead and sighs sadly. _'I guess it's time,' _he says softly; nervously.

His feelings mirror in my own as I stare out at the landscape behind him. Craning my neck to see the world outside, I ruffle Murtagh's hair with a heated breath and work my best to comfort both of our nerves_. 'Together. Never forget, Murtagh, I'll always be right here behind you.' _

The weight on our bond slowly lightens while he turns to me with a friendly smile; shaking his head with amusement as I purr helplessly under his fingers scratching the sensitive scales of my chin. Leaving me to enjoy the refreshing scratch, he climbs up onto my back and pulls his helm over his head in protection from the rushing torrent outside. _'Ready?'_ he says after a minute.

He knows my answer regardless if I speak, so I remain silent; content to reply in action instead. Turning sharply to stick my head out of the cave and backside in, I quickly examine the sky's conditions before crouching low and loosening my wings_. 'Hold on...this may be rough,'_ sensing Murtagh laying flat against the saddle with limbs strapped securely, I dig my claws into the muddied dirt and jolt forward; running until cleared of the confined space of the hilled crevasse. Clear valley on each side, I bend my knees and push off.

The strain of the roaring rain against my thin wings pulls against my every muscle, but still, it is quite refreshing. Further and further up we soar with every passing second. The worst of the clouds pass us by in a flash of lightening until..._Poof!_ The black clouds part before us like a velvet curtain, leaving the gloom of the musky morning behind and opening the way for a beautiful day of cloudless space and golden rays beating down from the sun. Murtagh whoops an exhilarated cry as he throws off his helm for an unobscured view. Securing the metal mask to the saddle packs, he shakes his head of soaked hair and welcomes the sun's glow. We may be slaves on the ground, but up here, we truly are free...even if just for a moment.

**TBC**

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**A/N2:** Well, there you have it, Chapter 2. Hope you like. Now, if you'd be so kind and leave a little review before you go? Thankx a lot. A writer's work means nothing unless they know someone is appreciating it. 

Till next time,

Strider


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the reviews. As promised, another chapter for your enjoyment. This chapter begins in exploring a little the events that may have taken place after Murtagh was captured by the Twins in _Eldest_. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it.

**Warnings:** A little more angsty in this one.

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**Oath Under Evil  
****Chapter 3  
By: StriderX  
**

"_We will never serve you, Galbatorix!" a battered Murtagh growled venomously as he cradled a baby dragon in his arms. _

_From his curved throne decorated with the bones of the dragons he slew, Galbatorix grinned manically and clenched his fist; reveling in the strangled cry that emitted from his prisoner. His hold on Murtagh's mind was growing stronger with every minute. "You have no choice, boy. Your father was my slave, and you are destined to be also. Why do you think I allowed you to live so long? You _will_ serve me." _

_Murtagh felt as if his mind was imploding in on itself as the evil king tightened his grip again. He fought with all his might to stand strong, but soon, his knees buckled and he crashed to the black floor with newborn dragon still in his arms. The dragon looked up into his tearing eyes as if to lend support, but nothing could prevent the blood dripping from Murtagh's nose. "N-no…" he barked through gritted teeth. _

_Galbatorix' face was unreadable; as if somewhere between exasperation and enjoyment. Mentally, he loosened his hold on Murtagh's mind for a moment to tease him. "Your mind is so weak, Murtagh. Just like your father. Is that all the defenses you have?" he paused, but continued when Murtagh lowered his head and gasped for the breath failing to come in naught but short specks. "I know your true names, Murtagh. Whether you agree or not, you are already my slaves." _

_Murtagh's eyes went wide with disbelief. He looked up; staring the king down with the very last ounce of his strength. "No…" he said again in a voice broken and desperate. "You can't know…" _

_The wicked smirk twisting Galbatorix' features made the youngling dragon cry out in fear and burrow further into Murtagh's arms as the king stood from his thrown and advanced toward them. Every sense in Murtagh's being told him to get up, to back away, but even as he tried, he had not the energy to combat the pain streaking his very veins. Closer and closer Galbatorix' stalked until his feet were merely inches from Murtagh's knees. Ignoring the dragon growling and snarling its teeth in attempt to protect its would-be-Rider, Galbatorix savagely gripped Murtagh's chin and ripped the boy's gaze to meet his own. Murtagh clenched his teeth; biting on his lip until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. "Oh but I _do_ boy," spitting the word like a curse. His grip tightened and grin grew as Murtagh winced horribly with the pain. "And if you don't do what I tell you, I will rip that dragon of yours to pieces with my own hands and make you watch. Then, I will make your life worse then you could ever imagine," the venom on his words dripped out of his mouth and coursed sheer fear through Murtagh's heart. _

_This dragon was the only gift he had ever been given. This dragon was the only hope he had left, and he wasn't about to let it be torn away from him. _

_As hard as he willed the tears to stay locked behind clouded eyes, Murtagh could not fight the single stream staining his dirtied face. Blinking hard at the irresistible salty rain, he took a deep, shuttering breath and stared Galbatorix dead in the eye. "Alright. I'm yours…but if you _ever_ touch Thorn, I will find a way to destroy you forever." _

_The grip the king held on Murtagh's face never lightened. "I'm sure. Now swear," his eyes bored into the boy as he reverberated the command through his mind_. 'Swear yourself to me,' _"Swear yourself to me in the Ancient Language so that you may never feel…inclined to break your oath." _

_Murtagh could feel his heart drying up into a withered stump inside his chest. It was the only way. With downcast eyes and shame unbearable, he swore his fealty to Galbatorix in the Ancient Language. Even the words themselves felt evil; there was left a horrible taste in his mouth that never seemed to fade. _

_He was now and forever a slave to Galbatorix: Murderer of the Kingdoms. _

The sun is setting low in the golden horizon by the time Urû'bean comes into view under the darkening clouds. Like a deep black abomination to the once lush land surrounding the vast city, its towering castles and spiked walls simply scream wickedness even down to the smallest onyx stud. Everything in sight is marked by Galbatorix' owning mark and nothing dared to rise against his overwhelming command.

Murtagh has been quite since the morn, but his thoughts swirl through in a violent whirlpool with my own as harsh memories of months past rush inside the depths of his mind. His fingers clench and loosen; his teeth grit and stretch in the reliving of every pain and imprisonment of not long enough ago.

I want nothing more then to break his treacherous hold on such awful things, but know just by a touch of his consciousness that now is not the time. The bitter rage slowly consuming him is doing so much more damage then he can ever know. I want to help him, but even then, I do not know what to do.

In a moment, there is nothing in his thoughts but the joy to just be _alive_ and to be a Dragon Rider; something he had never before dreamed of becoming. But, just as suddenly, in a flock of blinking light, there is a terrible madness boiling in the very innermost depths of his soul. His mind is an open book to me, for that, I am unsure whether or not to be thankful. Other Riders, from what I have learned, block much of their deepest thoughts and feelings from everyone, including their dragons. Murtagh is so different then that. Whether it is in an attempt to reveal his heart to me in mending for the lack of true friendship in the past, or simply a relief in knowing that he has no need to hide anything from me, I do not know. But…at times, such as now, the images that permeate our transparently unbreakable bond never cease to disturb me to my very core.

Masking my discomfort in a veil of unease at our approaching destination, I fight to force back those horrible thoughts and focus only on the steady _thud_ of my wings reverberating through the foggy dusk air. Wordlessly, I drift cautiously over the immense tenebrous city and gently lower to a heavily guarded inner courtyard of the massive, menacing Royal Palace.

Expecting our arrival, the black and red clad soldiers lining the courtyard's walls and giant, dragon-sized entries lower their jagged spears and step aside to give me room to land. I can see them trembling under their armor. Pathetic. If there is any satisfaction in this life my Rider and I find ourselves trapped in, it is the uncanny ability to make any one of the unflinching warriors of Galbatorix' army squirm with fear at the sight of us. Any sign of goodness within us shatters away as soon as the first soldier cowers. Now, is the time for us to keep our reputation as the king's best fighters…even if just the thought makes our blood run cold. Here, we cannot afford to appear weak.

I land with an evil snarl pulling at my lips and exposing sharpened daggers of teeth as Murtagh gracefully (despite the many pounds of armor weighing him down) slides off my back and onto the ground beside me. With one hand securing his helm under his arm and the other resting alertly on the hilt of his new blade, the look emanating from Murtagh's slender glare and furrowed brow alone force many a weathered soldier into silently knocking knees and sweating pores.

For a long moment, we stare them down, daring them to risk to speak. None try.

Seemingly satisfied, Murtagh takes the first step forward, leaving me to follow close beside. As we approach, the guards instantly move further away from the inner doorway as if we carried some deathly plague that would kill them on the very slightest of contact. No matter, I would prefer to be as far away from those pigs as I can anyway. With a low growl I think, '_That's right…stay far away from the evil dragon. Get too close and I might just eat you.'_

A mental snicker passes through my thoughts on a breeze—apparently Murtagh is amused; though you would never imagine such an emotion even possible from the dark scowl on his face.

The castle seems nigh on deserted; though it always does. Only the most elite of Galbatorix' forces ever come this far into the dank, foreboding guts of the stone world inside Urû'bean. The flickering lanterns set between crossbowed slants of windows to little to warm the intense cold of the dull rock. And with the sun being blocked by presumably endless brume, the algid glow of torchlight sets an unsettlingly eerie glow to the unwelcoming black tunnel.

Then, suddenly a biting gust of empty air whips through the hollow tunnel; drying my eyes and thrashing Murtagh's long bangs about his face. As we both already knew, the hollow gale is not without consequence. Carried within the torrent, like a master carried by his servants, echoes a rasped, menacing, snakelike voice dripping with the demonic passion of a man lost of his mind. _'Come to me…**now**.'_

**TBC**

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**A/N2:** Thankx for reading! Don't forget to review please. Next chap will be up in the next couple days. 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Okay, two things. First, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. Life is crazy right now. I'll do my best to keep my posts within a week. Second, I can't believe I wrote this...I've never written this much angst in my life. Well, I hope you like it...cuz here it is; the only way I could write it. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Warnings:** Major angst here...definitely not for the kiddies.

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**Oath Under Evil  
****Chapter 4  
By: StriderX**

The air shutters in a delirious shutter as the last of Galbatorix' voice slithers across the withered stone; even the torchlight recoils from the deafening shriek not unlike sharpened steel drawing against glass. In the corner of my eye, I see Murtagh wince painfully, but I pretend not to notice. The forced barriers forming around his mind are enough to tell me how hard he is trying to hide it.

The bleak, dreary tunnel seems to angle smaller and smaller, the deeper we trudge into the palace. A thought slowly creeps in between our bond that neither of us can stop.

It's like we're shrinking—being backed into a corner with no chance to turn back. The road is shutting; we're running out of time. Our hearts are pounding in our chests—I can hear the echoing _thump_ hanging in the stale are between us. Mine is strong and booming, like the rich pounding of a war drum sounding for battle. Murtagh's is flickering and stertorous, like the fluttering beats of a bird's wounded wing.

I reach to calm him, but his mind is already blocked with iron bars more formidable then even the black walls of Urû'bean's armory.

My heart glows with pride at the strength of the boy; his power seems to grow inhumanly at the setting of every sun. But yet, though his mind is strong, it wounds me to admit, he is still no match for the sadistic lunacy of Galbatorix' skill. What worries me more: Murtagh is aware of this just as clearly as I.

'_Together, young one,'_ I whisper through the hair's breadth crack in his mind.

'_Together,' _he mimics; our voices dancing around each other into an unbreakable cord of a friendship's strength.

Soon, an ominous door of deep wood and painted metal looms into view before us; like the gates of Hell it stands void of color on strident black hinges, staring down at us with its ornate carvings of the King's conquests in mocking jest. It stands nearly a full tail higher then me; ten men of Murtagh's height could stand shoulder-to-foot and only just graze the top. Whether we have journeyed downhill or the ceiling has hoisted up through the length of the tunnel, I am still not sure. Even the most logical of equations become blurred and dizzied in the murky fog of the misted walk.

In the very moment our feet touch the single step leading up to the door, hinges screech in the voice of a Ra'zac as the devil's doorway inches open on its own accord. I wince; the painful rasp of the rusted hinges like hornets in my ears.

After many painful moments of standing in impatient silence, the massive door skids to a stop and locks into place against the obsidian wall painting the entire cave-like room. Before us is a sight that would be shocking to anyone innocent enough to have been spared such a vision thus far. But not us; nay, our breath does not so much as hitch. For here, here is a place we have seen too many times to find ourselves shocked or awed. Here, is a place we have most unaffectionatly named Hell.

And King of it all, sitting on his abomination of a throne decorated with the blood and bones of my ancestors, is Galbatorix. Clothed in dyed leathers ripped with garish silver studs and spikes lining the seams, his light skin glows sickly in the dull light of the chandelier hanging high above. Protruding from a neck bulging with trained muscles and furious veins is his head, bald and tattooed—oh, how easy it would be to knock his head from his shoulders like a rock from a tree branch. His eyes, as black and empty as tar pits sit deep in angled eyes molded like an elf's from the power of his equally black dragon. His features are tight—annoyed even—but remain expressionless. That is a sign not welcome. Thin lips curl in a snarl when his teeth part to speak.

"My _loyal_ servants," he spat maleficiently in a tongue reeking with deep undertones of ferocity and power. "You have failed to bring me the dragon Saphira and her Rider," my blood chills at the falsely kind note carried in his words.

Beside me, Murtagh steps forward to stand near a meter in front of me. I do not move. As much as it pains me, this is a burden only he can bear; all I can do is lend him the strength to hold back the sweat pooling under his skin and shivers running through his nerves. "I tried," Murtagh begins darkly; his voice steady and confident despite the sheer terror I know vibrates within him. "and I failed. They are much stronger they we had anticipated."

The snarl on Galbatorix' face is open now; his dagger-like teeth glistening under the pale light. Much to our greatest misfortune, the King is clever; clever enough to know the game Murtagh is attempting to play. "You _tried_? Or you _let_ them defeat you?"

Murtagh shrugs nonchalantly. "I told you would _try _and capture Eragon and Saphira…I tried…they won," not even a flicker in his sky-filled eyes betrays his lie…

…but it is not enough. Galbatorix shakes his head as a mocking smirk twists his already psychotic features. "I am surprised at you, Murtagh," he speaks; voice dripping with malice. "I had expected you to fight me in some way, but not in a way so foolish! Do you truly believe that I do not know what happened in The Burning Plains?" I can feel Murtagh's heart beat rising…or is that mine? "Did you really think that I would not know about how you told Eragon the truth; how you stole his sword; or…more still, how you held him _and _the Blue Dragon at your complete mercy and then _willingly_ let them go?" he snorts a laugh as leather-clad fists tightens and wicked eyes narrow.

Oh no….not again.

The instant Galbatorix' glare locks with Murtagh's, a mental scream rips over our bond and tears into my heart. Outwardly, my Rider clenches his fists until the scarred skin under his gloves turns white at the knuckles. For a long moment, no one makes a sound, but the utter silence is deafening. A vein bulges in Galbatorix' neck; Murtagh refuses to take a breath as he begins to tremble under the pressure. I send waves of strength over our bond, but Galbatorix is blocking me. Under all of the King's power with naught to fight with but his exhausted mind, Murtagh screws tight his tearing eyes and bends his knees low; battling with every power to remain on his feet.

I can barely stand to watch such torture, but for Murtagh's sake, I know I cannot turn away. I feel my Rider growing weaker by the moment. No matter how strong I may believe him to be, no one—not even he—could withstand the mental ambush stabbing scarred wounds like the arrows of a thousand archers. As the demonic grin spreads across Galbatorix' features and he stands from his black throne, Murtagh's body finally gives in over his will.

Collapsing to his knees with a resounding crash of silver armor against the cold stone below, Murtagh grasps his head in pure desperation as a strangled cry rips from his throat. Still, Galbatorix is not satisfied. Even as I glare at him through crimson eyes burning in rage and anguish, the King's grip tightens and twists around Murtagh's consciousness. Locked in the maniacal battle, he descends from his _lofty_ throne.

Memories of the first day I met Murtagh come rushing back to me when he stops to stand just inches before the boy. In a last, savage act, his head twitches on his neck as he blasts a bolt of unadulterated agony through Murtagh's stumbling defenses. My Rider falls to his back; writhing in his torment with steaming tears racing down his face to mix with the blood dripping from his nose and broken lip.

I cannot take anymore of this!

In a single moment flashing by as unpredictable as lightening, a fierce roar mixes with hate and gushes forth from my mouth; spewing smoking sparks of growing fire everywhere in sight. With a violent step, I place my forefoot protectively over Murtagh and crouch down low over him; snarling at the wicked King still standing with a smirk twisting his features.

"Quite right, Dragon," says he in a growl that would make me shiver if not for my wrath. He looks between my legs and shakes his head with condescension at the sight of Murtagh blearily attempting to remain conscious. I lower my head to shade my Rider from his view. Galbatorix refocuses his attention on me and continues: "he _has_ had enough, for now. Get out of my sight, and let this be a lesson I will _not_ teach again," his voice grew low and threatening. "The next time the two of you try to slither out of your oath, I _will_ kill him."

I do not answer; I don't trust even my thoughts to try. Just the thought of Galbatorix…_killing_ my Rider; it is as if a part of my soul has been burned to crisps and left for ashes. In silence while the King saunters back to his throne, I nudge Murtagh with my nose and help him to stand; albeit wobbly. My young Rider wraps a trembling arm around my muzzle and nods graciously as I pull him up.

He is trying to ignore what he just went through; that, I understand. Our bond is weak now as his eyes flutter and heart skips. We waste no time squeezing through the mountainous door before it is open even more then a splinter. I know not the hour, but surely the sun must be setting soon. Though tonight, even in the cover of moonlit darkness—I fear—no rest will be found for either of us.

**TBC**

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******A/N2:** And there you have it. Hope you liked it, please leave a review before you go, hope to see you next time! 

Strider


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This chapter's a bit slower, but still enjoyable, I think. Hope you do too. :)

**Disclaimer: **As always, I don't own what's not mine.

**Warnings: **None really...pretty mellow chapter.

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**Oath Under Evil  
Chapter 5  
By: StriderX  
**

The dingy tunnel outside Galbatorix' hall feels more welcoming then it ever has when the last creek of the obscene door scratches behind. Free of the King's boring gaze, a wave of pounding relief washes over our bond. As I sigh a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, Murtagh's posture falls and he leans against my foreleg; sliding wearily to the ground with back resting against me. I feel his shoulders shaking and breath shuttering, but think it best not to mention the topic…not yet.

'_Can you climb on my back? I will carry you,'_ I offer gently; straining my neck to ruffle his sweaty hair with a hot breath.

He is silent for a long moment, though I can sense him trying to gather his thoughts and bite back his emotions. _'My legs feel like pudding,'_ he finally replies in a quite attempt of tragic humor.

I can't help the hint of a smirk that crosses my mind. This boy will _never_ cease to amaze me. No matter how well I think I know him, he always manages to say something so completely unexpected, I find myself forgetting—at least for a moment—the stank, murky halls of our current lives. I wonder if he knows that? Shaking my head of such thoughts, I curve my tail around as a helping hand. _'Here. Grab hold,'_ with a silent thanks, Murtagh weaves his arms around the end of my tail and holds tight as I lift him to the saddle still strapped to my back. Minding the potentially painful spikes protruding from my tail, he cautiously lets go his grip and settles in the leather seat; obviously thankful for the reprieve.

Satisfied with his momentary comfort, I begin the long walk to our quarters in the other side of the palace. The journey is silent, but not uncomfortably so. I know Murtagh can sense my worry for him, but for the time, I believe he is too weak to argue that I should feel any differently. What strength he does have is used to mask his fatigue whenever someone passes by. To them, we are nothing less then the King's prize mercenaries; fighting our way to satisfy our own petty greed with inhuman—in Murtagh's case—strength and finesse. Oh, how wrong they are. Will anyone ever know of our true circumstances? Somehow, I think not.

The last remains of fog-covered sun have long dissipated into the distant horizon by the time we arrive at the corner apartment declared as Murtagh's and mine. There are very few guards in this area of the castle. All who once filled this wing drew lots for better—safer—positions once they learned of a dragon living within it. Even then, there were not many. These quarters had been Murtagh's since the passing of his mother and father, and, even then, no one had desires to be in close company with the son of Morzan—a man who had a horrible reputation of killing the guards posted at his door just for the blood of it. I may know that Murtagh is most assuredly _not_ his father, but that doesn't mean that these stupid guards are smart enough to see it too.

The two unfortunate men chosen to guard the door to our quarters seem to shrink into the firelit walls as my thumping footsteps bounce into their ears. With a single growl from the hollow of my belly, the fumbling soldiers jump into action and fuss nervously to open the two ornately carved doors gating the apartment. The doors are much smaller then the last, but still large enough for me to walk through without ducking far. As we pass by, one of the guards finds the courage to pipe up and salute Murtagh. "My Lord!" he says in a voice much higher then his natural. "There was food and beer delivered to your quarters upon hearing of your arrival," he tries to calm himself by clearing his throat. "Is there anything else you require?"

Murtagh—sitting straight and tall to camouflage his failing health—shakes a curt not and stiffens the scorn knitting together his features. "No. Leave us and shut the door," he growls so deeply, I can almost taste the gravel tumbling through his voice.

Stuttering, the guards bow awkwardly and yank tight on the door handles; dragging the bulking doors to a tight close behind them. Alone at last, this time it is Murtagh to sigh. I try to minimize the amount of movement Murtagh has to make by moving close to his bed before crouching low for him to slide off.

Our quarters are larger then many others within the palace. It is a great room with a six-meter-high ceiling and plenty of space to stretch about. In the centre, there is a carved bed large enough to comfortably hold three average-sized humans. On each side of it is a table; on one placed a vase and bowl filled with clean water. Occupying much of the right side of the room is a padded bowl-shaped couch fit for a dragon. To the left is a wooden dining table, a door leading to a private bath (for a human, of course), and a group of shelves filled with various books and scrolls framing a sizable fireplace occupying a softly burning wood fire. Heated by the radiating warmth, a worn leather couch beside glows in its comforting orange glow—that is Murtagh's favorite seat. There is no moonlight tonight, on account of the ravaging storm brewing outside the windows, so the only light is the blurred flicker of lantern light. The dull lighting means nothing to us though; we can both see just fine in even the blackest of nights—me with my naturally keen eyes, and Murtagh with the elfin powers I give to him.

As I think, my Rider ever so slowly inches down my back to land to a graceful sit on the mattress of his bed. I know he has no intention of sleeping yet, but the emotion of his final relief does well to calm my ever straining, anxious nerves. Without a word, he begins the arduous task of removing his well-strapped armor. Taking the opportunity, I lean back on my haunches and use the tip of a talon to loosen the straps of my saddle. Shaking it off my back, Murtagh snickers tiredly at my clear refreshment. He knows I'm no more fond of the feel of scraping animal hide against my scales then he is of chilled metal clashing with his own skin.

While my Rider finishes untying his armor, I make my way to the dinning table; curiously examining the many plates of food covering the worn wood. Well, I suppose we should be thankful that Galbatorix at least isn't trying to starve us too. There are many fruits and vegetables, a few well cooked meats decorated with herbs and strange sauces, and—to my enjoyment—a nice assortment of boneless chunks left raw and waiting at the very end. Mmm…those are _mine_.

Grabbing the luscious gobs in my teeth, I lay in the open space by the fire and set to savor every bite of the semi-fresh food. Even as I eat, one eye never leaves Murtagh's side. After finally declaring victory over his battle with the annoyingly protective armor, he tests his legs carefully; using the bed posts as a crutch for much of his weight. He stumbles slightly, but when I flinch to move, he puts out a hand and shakes his head with weary determination. _'I'm alright, Thorn,'_ he says. _'Just a little shaky, is all.'_ A 'little shaky' is a vast understatement, but nonetheless, I let him be.

Despite the much needed food spread before him, my Rider only picks at the morsels sliding around his plate. As he lounges on the couch, my worry for him only grows. Since his torture at Galbatorix' hand, his eyes have grown clouded and expression dark. He tries to hide it, but his limbs have yet to cease trembling. What concerns me more, as sweat drips down his pale skin, I can feel the unnatural heat bursting from within his blood. I'm beginning to fear that his suffered torment piled atop the cold, wet journey here is tearing even further at his body's defenses.

Resigning his struggle to eat, Murtagh places his plate on the floor and settles his head on a pillow; staring lifelessly into the tempting friendliness of the sunset fire. I follow his gaze and burrow into his unresisting thoughts.

Unlike the swirling torrent that spun within him this morning, his thoughts are empty and hollow now; like a midnight sea void of any fish or wave. There is a small trickling of sorrow twisting deep under the depths of the lake, but even its movement is so slight, not even a ripple stirs the surface.

'_Murtagh?' _I inquire; troubled by such an utter, lonely silence.

He sighs deep; even the voiceless breath is glutted with emotion. His head turns to the ceiling as he drapes a quaking arm over his forehead, shielding his eyes from firelit view. He is quite for a long while more, but I can see him battling his torment's aftermath through my mind's eye. _'There must be a way,'_ he finally whispers.

I nod knowingly and inch to curl around the small couch. _'If there is, we will find it, my friend.'_

Murtagh shakes his head wearily, as if he doesn't believe me. _'It won't be long before we have to face the Varden again…I don't think I can survive another attack like that,'_ his thoughts are jumbled about as they fight to breach the surface of the unbending lake flooding his psyche, but I understand perfectly. Before I can reply, he shifts to observe me with vehement azure eyes. _'Even if we refuse him, Galbatorix will find a way to make us capture Saphira and Eragon…he'll make me kill him, Thorn. And then he'll kill us.'_

His words are final and true—as terrible as it is, that is the inevitable fate that seems to await us. Yes, we could do the selfless thing and simply end our pain ourselves, but, that is a course I cannot allow. At least not until I know another male dragon is born safely. If I were to die and there ended to be no suitable mate for Saphira, the race of the dragons will end forever. And thus, we are in a corner again with no foreseeable escape. _'If it is our fate to survive this battle, young one, a way will present itself in time,'_

In desperate depression, Murtagh raises his arm and stretches him hand before me. _'In time? Look at me, Thorn. I can't even stop my arm from shaking! _You _may be strong enough to continue on like this, but if this 'way' doesn't present itself soon, I'm afraid to think what will be left of me by the end,_' he pauses for a long, shuttering breath; struggling against the leaking pools forming behind long lashes. _'My mind is already in fragments of its former self. If not for you, I would already have been thrown into the mud with the rest of the insane.'_

He looks down for a moment, but never bothers to wipe away the tears striping his cheeks. "I don't want to die," my head jerks at the uncommon sound of his physical voice. Very few times since our meeting has Murtagh ever spoken to me through his lips; every time has been one of dire need and importance. In fact, so long has it been that I nearly forgot the depth of passion that surges only through that vocal means.

A rock solid lump forms in the back of my throat. In one of the strangely rare occasions between us, I simply do not know what to say. _'Nor do I, my dear friend. Please, your body is weak and your mind in need of rest. Sleep now, for many things are made clear in the deepest corners of night's hold.' _

Watching as he settles further into the warm cushions of the couch in exhausted surrender, I helplessly stretch a wing and drape it over his thin figure; hoping desperately that I can at least provide him some comfort from the chill of the biting air. And it is as such we would remain for the length of the night.

My Rider, bless his spirit, falls into a fast, relinquishing sleep in only moments after the last of the firelight drifted apart. I am not far to follow, despite the heavy thoughts ravaging through my soul, but just as eyes close and heartbeat slows, a terrorized scream savagely tears at the air like a rabid beast clawing at his victim in hopeless plea for release.

**TBC**

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**A/N2: **MUAHAHA!!! And the cliffy's cometh! Hope you enjoyed it; as always, I ask that you please leave a review before you go. 

Strider


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I am so sorry for taking so intolerably long to post new chapters for this story. I promise you I will finish the tale; it just make take me a little longer then I would like. Not because I'm losing interest, but because...well, other things are interfering recently. Let's just leave it at that. That being said, I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but I thought it needed to be. Sometimes long chapters take away from the intensity of the main point of the scene. I wanted to leave it simple and focus only on this one scene and nothing else. The next chapter will be longer. I hope you enjoy.

Also, I am sorry if I missed any reviews and didn't reply last chapter. I'll do better this time.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned it, I wouldn't be posting my stories on a fan site.

**Warnings:** Tissue warning here...I needed one...hopefully, if I did justice to the writing, you will too.

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**Oath Under Evil  
Chapter 6  
By: StriderX  
**

In the heart-ripping scream pummeling through my ears, an alarming spear of worry jets into my heart. My eyes shoot open and neck twists to see the victim I know is suffering from the unforeseeable pain. As claws of unrelenting fear gash at our bond, my eyes widen when I catch sight of Murtagh thrashing in a tortured sleep. His skin is pallid and a sheen of freezing sweat is dripping off; hopelessly attempting to dim the violent fire blazing in his blood.

'_Murtagh!'_ I call to him helplessly; knowing all too well how little a dragon can physically do for a human in need of care. Sending powerful waves of comfort and protection over the shaky existence of our bond drenched in pain, I call to him again. _'Murtagh! You must wake up! You are dreaming; wake up now!'_

For a long while, I fear that I can do nothing but wait until the nightmare has run its course. I call over and over, but never does there seem to be any response. Hovering close to his convulsing form, I hold a gentle paw over his body; attempting in at least some form to prevent him from hurting himself.

After a long eternity of painful minutes, Murtagh's breath is coming up in short, unsteady gasps as cold sweat mixes with the salty heat of fresh tears on the pillow below. And then, suddenly—in a moment that feels to stop the very fabric of time—it is over. Nonetheless, the intensity of my fear escalates a thousand fold as I realize, it is not just the nightmare and the seizure to stop. When air grows still and screams abruptly fade, the pounding of my heartbeat bolts to my tail—Murtagh's breath has _vanished_.

Panic overtakes me; I can actually hear the blood slowing in his veins. In an instant so quick so as not even to be calculated, what little color left in my Rider's face drains away; replaced silently with the morbid tint of blue to his parted lips and closed eyes. Acting on nothing more then forgotten instinct now, I force all my strength to call back the life of my dear Rider. Eyes water, but tears do not fall.

The dank air of the room shakes with the strain as I draw on everything touchable for the power to coax back the soft, precious heartbeat lost in the depths of my young boy. _'Please…please, come back, Murtagh. Please, come back,'_ my mantra is repeated within the dying stream of our bond as I unconsciously taste the murderous prick of mutual death hanging in my soul.

My paw pounds as heavily as it dares over Murtagh's small chest. He cannot die…not now; not after everything we've fought through. Please, oh, please; I pray to all the life within me; all the life within every cell and depth on this breathing land: do not let him fade!

Seconds swim into minutes; high in the sky above the ravenous storm, the moon has shifted just so to the west. My prayers have turned into pleas; reasonless beggings for any relief to the gruesome agony shifting about my being. A sodden haze hangs low around us as the air weeps its own anguish for even a single beat of the life-giving organ.

A roar in desperate grief of endless depression rumbles through the foundation of Urû'bean's entirety as my hope gives in and paw beats on Mutagh's breathless chest one last time.

My Rider…is gone.

Tears fall freely now; not because I know my death will be soon to follow, but for the sudden, infinite loneliness that hacks mercilessly on any light or color of hope that once filled my life. Somehow, someway, I have failed to see the sign that would have, undoubtedly, led to the freedom that neither my Rider, nor myself, would now ever see.

------------

And then, nearly soundlessly inaudibly, a soft flicker flutters in the bond held so dear to my heart. Daring to carry even the slightest of hope, I open my eyes shut tight to the world and gaze at Murtagh's breathless figure. Every sound inside me hangs far behind comprehension as I listen for any sign of familiar life.

The time that passes by is unknown to me. Refusing to blink, I cling to possible hope with a bone-shattering grip.

'_You can do it, Murtagh…just breathe,'_ I coax him softly; unknowing whether or not he can even hear.

A long moment more passed, and my hope again began to dwindle. But then, just as tears welled up and anguish took its root, a shaking, sputtering cough fills the mourning air about the room. He's alive! My eyes focus quickly through the watery haze as my paw shifts to turn Murtagh to his side; making breath easier from the strain of his rib's weight on weary lungs. The sudden beat of his renewed heart reverberates like a sweet song through my ears. Dear life, dear breath of magic surging through us, thank you for sparing my Rider's heart.

The rough coughs slowly dissipate; soon to be replaced with the shuttering breaths not unlike that of a newborn child. _'Thorn?'_ my tears can no longer be repressed when Murtagh's voice fills my mind and strengthens the bond I'd thought we had lost. He _is_ really alive.

'_Yes, young one, it is me,'_ even in my thoughts, my voice is choked and tainted with the lingering of deadly depression.

Without another word between us, Murtagh disregards his unceasingly trembling limbs and lunges off the couch; wrapping his arms around my neck and burying his pale face into the soft scales of the crook between my neck and shoulder. His sobs are silent, but the unnatural shaking of his lightly muscled shoulders is the only proof needed to give evidence to the tangled force of ardent emotion rushing over our bond.

Forgetting any other logic, my thought immediately morphs to the comfort and protection of a brother as I wrap a careful paw around his quaking back and lean to rest my cheek upon his hair. _'It's alright, Murtagh…it's over…I'm here,'_

Oh, but how far we both know that is from the truth; it is _not_ over. Instantly regretting my choice of words, my hold around him tightens in response to his own and I resign to let him cry out his fears in my arms. Even when his strength drops and legs weaken, I hold him up; I will never let him fall again.

And Galbatorix **will **pay.

**TBC**

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**A/N2:** Thankx for the interest; please don't forget to review. Thank you. 

Strider


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